


Night Doesn't Last Forever

by Artemis1000



Series: The Collector's Edition [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: First Order Poe Dameron, Horror, M/M, Mild Gore, Morbid, but this one is more Tim Burton than Saw, there are body parts being gifted but it isn't explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 15:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8253448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis1000/pseuds/Artemis1000
Summary: Kylo likes to bring Poe presents, and Poe excels at biding his time.A glimpse into a darker world.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this is a Halloween fic if you like, though I didn't set out to write it as such - I just needed to flex my creepy muscles.
> 
> When I set out writing this was going to be much, much darker and gorier, then I chickened out and went for something tame. When I changed my mind again and decided to hell with it, I will horror, it was too late to change gears.
> 
> So enjoy your cute!gore for now, and... *points at first part of series*

Kylo is a collector - this is a fact Poe has always known. Even as a little boy he would fill his shelves with tiny little ships and plaster the walls of his room with dozens of star charts.

Twenty years later, the table of ashes is famous in the First Order.

“Don’t be stupid or you’ll end up as ash” is what Poe tells the soldiers new to working for Kylo Ren, only that’s a lie since the table of ashes is reserved for enemies he wishes to commemorate.

Poe just never expected to be involved in Kylo’s love for collecting trophies.

As most of Kylo’s more disturbing habits do, it sneaks up on you so slowly you don’t notice what’s happening until it’s too late.

“It’s yours,” he tells him when he brings home a lightsaber and offers it to Poe with a hopeful, almost shy smile.

As a pilot, the First Order’s best but utterly Force-blind pilot, Poe has no use for a lightsaber, but he kisses Kylo and thanks him – and then proceeds to _thank_ him. It’s sweet, attentive, and he’d even remembered to clean off the blood before he brought his gift home.

It’s a custom blaster the next time, which Poe proceeds to carry.

The third time it’s an arm. But it’s a cybernetic arm, and the micro-explosives launcher installed in it will fit nicely into his custom blaster, so it’s not really _that_ weird.

“As long as he’s not bringing me the heads of my enemies I’m fine,” Poe tells his squad when one of them points out that it’s kind of weird.

It is, but so is the fact that Kylo is never more passionate in his lovemaking than right after battle, when he’s still seeing nothing but blood-red, or that Poe gets a forbidden thrill out of it, and can never bring himself to feel ashamed.

He knew what he was getting himself into when he followed Ben Solo onto the Dark Side. They had both heard the story of Anakin Skywalker and Padme Amidala, and how it ended. He knew he was strong enough to stand in the darkness. Ben needed him. Alone, he would lose himself. Together, they would thrive.

Night doesn’t last forever.

In hindsight, Poe should have known better than to jinx it.

The next time, Kylo brings him the finger which had pushed the fire controls that had gotten most of his squad wiped out.

“It’s not like it’s a head,” he tells himself, and tries to figure out what you do with extra fingers. Throwing them into the trash compactor would hurt Kylo’s feelings, but he’s not the type for pickled body parts in a glass jar. They’re aiming for a homey atmosphere in their quarters.

He’s starting to understand the wisdom of having a table of ashes.

Turns out the squad does like pickled body parts. There’s nothing left of their squadmates to mourn. The grim satisfaction of revenge is the next best thing.

The finger in a jar gets a place of honor in the hangar.

Kylo wants his approval. Full of insecurities and doubts as he is, he craves Poe’s praise and affection. Poe lavishes all the adoration he could ask for and more on him. It isn’t hard. Ben Solo or Kylo Ren, he is filled to the brim with desperate, mad love for this man.

Kylo’s strength grows with every year. No longer does he cower away from the dark whispers at the back of his mind. Poe learns to help him drown out that cruel voice with his own, far sweeter whispers. He lets Kylo cling to him when he shivers and shakes from the aftermath of Force lightning, he pets his back soothingly when Kylo’s throat is so mangled from being choked that every breath sends him into another coughing fit.

Kylo is still blinded, but Poe sees, and Poe learns to hate.

That is not to say that he didn’t hate the First Order before. Rebel Alliance blood runs through his veins, his only loyalty on this side of the war has always been to Kylo, but now his hate feels _personal_.

If he could, Poe would bring Kylo Snoke’s head. But he can’t, he can do nothing but wait.

Snoke loathes Poe more than anyone else, he knows it, Kylo knows it, the Supreme Leader knows they know it. But it’s too late to get rid of him. Kylo has grown strong, but Snoke’s cruelty has turned him rabid, and Poe is the only tether to reality his fragile mind has left. To put down one means to put down both, and with the Jedi growing in numbers once more, the Supreme Leader doesn’t want to lose his best weapon over an annoying, but ultimately insignificant pilot.

Poe is a pilot. A good pilot shoots fast. An excellent pilot is patient. He waits for the perfect, lethal moment to fire.

They lay in bed cuddling, their sweat-slick bodies still intimately joined, and every minute shift earns Poe the sweetest little whimpers from Kylo. He kisses the corner of his mouth in apology and then he rolls his hips again, and laughs breathlessly as Kylo clenches around him. He knows he will be paying for it later when it’s Kylo’s turn and he gets pinned to the bed by intangible chains, but half the fun of goading him is the revenge that follows.

“Did I tell you yet that your present is lovely?” he breathes against Kylo’s chest. His teeth scrape over a nipple already red from previous bites, and Kylo whines and bucks up into his caresses. Poe keeps chuckling right until he finds their positions abruptly reversed. He pouts up at Kylo, and bites his bottom lip. “That was rude. I was just trying to thank you.”

On the living room table lay the gloves of the General that had called him Kylo’s rebel whore. It hadn’t hurt much, Poe has been called worse, but Kylo still takes offense to such slights.

It’s almost tragic, the man hadn’t even lasted a month in his new position. There is a number of gloves and hats and rank pins in Poe’s collection. They never learn.

“You can show it later, on your hands and knees, ass in the air,” Kylo rasps into his ear, and Poe shivers.

He wraps his arms around his lover’s neck and his legs around his hips. “When did I last tell you that I like the way your mind works?”

Kylo huffs a laugh against his ear. “This morning, when I put extra sugar into your caf.”

“See? I keep telling you you’re brilliant.”

The Supreme Leader is going to be furious, but the pain will come whether they waste their time dreading it or not.

For now, they have a victory to celebrate, and later they’ll add the latest token of Kylo’s love to his growing hoard.

Poe is a patient man. He knows Kylo will open his eyes one day, and his collection of ashes will at last be completed.

After all, night doesn’t last forever.

**The End**


End file.
